


There's Just Something About Christmas

by Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions Of Violent Acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Frank is pretty sure Matt is joking when he invites him to spend Christmas with Karen, Foggy and himself. Then he realizes that Matt is very much serious. Fluff and awkward cuteness ensues <3





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Im_Fratt_Trash (raysire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raysire/gifts).



There’s just something magical about the holidays. That’s what they all say. We sing about it in juvenile Christmas songs and plaster in on ornaments right before drowning them in glitter. It’s on every greeting card and store window and fast-food placemat. Seems to be something we *say*. Where the hell is the magic in that?

 

Frank’s no scrooge, mind you. He’s a realist. He loved to watch the faces of his kids unwrapping their presents, even though most of those memories took place over secured video conference 7,000 miles away. Now his kids are 6 feet under, and the past few Christmases have only been a bitter reminder that those memories are just that—past events that can never again be recreated or enjoyed. Frank walks past the windows with the spray-on snow with this head a little lower, biting his lip a little harder. He swallows it hard, way down deep, where the searing pain of loss and tragedy stokes the ever-burning fire within. They would pay. They would all pay.

 

Frank won’t hunt on Christmas Day. He isn’t heartless, youknow. He isn’t about to blow some guy’s brains out all over the shiny red plastic fire truck little Timmy has just unwrapped. Even the deadbeat Dads that never showed up at their kids’ doorsteps get about a 10-hour stay of execution. Frank always shows them the video tape later—the one he took in secret of the guy’s happy, healthy family enjoying a home-grown American morning underneath the Christmas tree. The family the Deadbeat had forsaken. The family he no longer wanted. Frank shows him the whole thing as the guy blubbers and cries and begs for his goddamn life. Yeah, they usually miss the point. These assholes aren’t wailing their guts out out of remorse—they’re doing it because Frank’s 22 is buried in the fly of their jeans and his finger’s squeezing the trigger.

 

One shot. One kill. The bullet will blow the guy’s dick off and sever the femoral artery. He’d be dead faster than you could say “Silent Night.”

 

Frank is not easily surprised, either. In fact, Frank loathes surprises. When you are ass-deep in tactical gear and 124 separate death warrants , surprises are usually of the less-than-desirable variety. That’s why he nearly spits his coffee out when Matt asks him if he wants to spend Christmas at his place.

He swallows the burning-hot liquid instead, grimacing as it scalds his insides. “Jesus…Red...,” he coughs out.

 

Matt is sitting on top of one of Frank’s ammo boxes, the red mask doing nothing to hide Matt’s indignation. “Well, I didn’t think it’d be *that* crazy of a proposition.”

 

“Sorry,” Frank mutters, wiping his mouth with the neck of his tee shirt. He peers up at Matt, whose eyes are burning holes in his forehead, and quickly busies himself with brushing the specks of wet coffee from the pavement with his boot. Creepy how he can just *see* like that.

 

Matt taps his heel on the box beneath him, just enough to make Frank cringe. “By the way…thought we had a conversation about this.”

 

Frank sneers .“ What’re you going to do Red, kick my ass and leave me for the cops to find?”

 

Matt shrugs, an impish grin on his face. “W’ll….maybe. That depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

“On whether or not you’re coming to my place for Christmas.”

 

Frank chuckles softly and runs a hand through the thick black curls on top of his head. As he thinks about it, though, it would be kind of weird not to. They have been going pretty hot and heavy at it for the past few months. First, Frank tries convincing himself, it just seemed like a lot of fun. A way to kill the time and relieve some stress. But lately he’s caught himself thinking about Matt when Matt isn’t even around.

 

That night on the rooftop with the Hand is not the only time Frank has saved Matt’s skin. (Of course, if Frank’s being honest, there have been quite a few times when Matt has done the same for him). But since that moment, Matt has been on his mind nearly every second. And Frank hasn’t felt like that since… “Alright.” Frank sighs.. “Just don’t tell me I have to meet your parents.”

 

“No,” Matt says. “No danger of /that/ happening.” With that, the kid in the horned red pajamas turns and launches himself off the rooftop and into the night sky, leaving Frank to shake his head slowly before trying another sip of coffee.

 

* * * * *

 

Frank shows up three hours late with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder and an empty mug in his hand. The door is cracked slightly, light-hearted laughter spilling out into the hallway. 

 

“And then—and then, Mr. Jefferson takes out this little plastic box with holes in the top and says—“

 

Frank recognizes the voice instantly. Oh, good. Matt’s partner—what is it….?—Foggy is here. Frank would be lying if he said it didn’t bring him just a teensy bit of joy to hear his chubby little ass pucker as he enters the room. Foggy stands there, slack-jawed, frozen mid-sentence, some sort of fruity cheerleader-looking beer in his hand. Frank grins. “Hey, Pork Chop.”

 

Karen is there, too. She lifts her head and flashes him a genuine smile. “Frank!” Her free arm wraps around his shoulders just as a big gray dog noses his way in between their legs. “Oh! Who is this?”

 

“This is uh…this is Max.” Frank tries the name out as he unclips his lead. Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe this name he’ll keep. He has a list of favorites that have undesired qualities—Deux (sounds like taking a dump), Trigger (too close to that /other/ word), and Tank (reminds him of the war).

 

Karen scruffles his floppy ears fondly as his tongue wags in and out of his mouth. “Awwww, big scary doggie…you’re not so tough,” she chides. “Kind of like someone /else / I know.” She grins up at Frank and he rolls his eyes.

 

“Ah, and there he is.” Matt steps out from behind the counter, slipping a hand into the back pocket of his jeans like some bashful school kid. Frank is suddenly grateful that Matt’s two best friends seem pretty oblivious, making their way to the small fake tree in the corner of the living room with a gray pit bull in tow. Matt gestures to the empty couch. “Please. Have a seat.”

 

This isn’t the first time Frank has been to Matt’s apartment. He flashes Matt a grin that he knows he can somehow *hear* and slides his duffel down in its usual spot by the same little table where Matt keeps his keys. He veers right, brushing elbows with the stupidly grinning redhead, and flips the lid up on the coffee maker.

 

“Second shelf,” Matt says, and Frank is soon on his way to a freshly brewing pot of coffee.

 

Laughter breaks out from the direction of the living room as Max comes charging around the corner, a large bone with a ribbon attached to it clenched firmly in his jaws. “Well, I guess Max already found his present!”

 

Frank’s stomach knots up. He has to remind himself to smile. Has to remind himself that this is a happy occasion, that he is expected to be happy. Or at least tolerant of other peoples’ happiness. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, reaching down to give the bow a tug. It comes off easily, leaving the goofy terrier free to mow down on the knotted treat.

 

“It’s called a Dreambone, I guess,” Matt offers. He hasn’t budged from his spot adjacent Frank, their backs nearly touching. “The store-clerk said it’s rawhide-free, so…”

 

“it’s great.” Frank is hiding half his face in his coffee mug. “Thanks.”

 

“You just missed Foggy’s story of the time his 5th grade teacher brought a frog to class,” Matt chides.

 

“I’ll try to act disappointed.”

 

This earns him a soft chuckle from Matt, who trails a finger across the ridge of the waistband of his jeans as he continues on to the living room. A tingle of pleasure skitters up Frank’s spine and he watches Matt’s back as he trails off.

 

Foggy has finally gotten over his shock halfway through dinner, then again, having a chubby bully curled up and snoring happily between your feet will do that to you. Dinner is a strange mixture of foods—rice pudding, spinach and mozzarella pizza, some kind of vegan salad (Frank swears he can see bits of grass in the damn thing). Foggy saves the day—he brings a large pan out of the oven and peels away the aluminum foil to reveal sizzling, beautifully basted pork ribs smothered in bourbon and butter. Thank /god/, Frank thinks. Actual food. Before he can stop himself, he is reaching for a piece and Karen swats the back of his hand so hard Frank nearly comes out of his chair. (Only Karen could ever get away with ‘swatting’ the Punisher!) He shoots her a wide-eyed look.

 

“We need to say grace,” she explains.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank’s incredulous stare doesn’t impede her from neatly folding her fingers over his hand. Frank stares across the table at Matt as Foggy takes Frank’s free hand. Frank musters the world’s most murderous stare and Foggy simply shrugs.

 

“Rules are rules.”

 

Matt’s mouth is curving up into a wicked grin. Through the dark red frames as he bows his head and his eyelids shut tigtly. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen." 

 

“Amen,” Frank mutters under his breath. He is already plotting to consume at least half of the ribs on the plate single-handedly in retribution. He receives a nudge from under the table and not-so-nicely nudges back.

 

Matt’s grin widens.

 

* * * * *

 

His first chance for revenge comes as Foggy and Karen are lounging on the couch watching “A Christmas Story” and Matt has made his way to the kitchen, empty martini glass in hand. Frank swallows down the last of his lukewarm coffee and plucks himself up from his spot on the floor to stalk after him.

 

“You owe me, Murdock,” he mutters softly, tilting his head so that his chin is almost touching Matt’s neck. He takes in the clean smell of bar soap and Blu De Chanel and the fabric softener on his sweater. With a quick half-glance to make sure the other two are still glued to the show, Frank’s hand sneaks down Matt’s backside and he gives one of the muscular mounds underneath Matt’s back pocket a firm squeeze.

 

Matt jumps a little and he lets out a soft laugh under his breath.

 

In truth, Frank has to force himself to back off. Everything about Matt just feels so /right/ and the more Frank gets, the more he wants. He can already feel a bulge prodding out from under the fly of his jeans as flashbacks of their last encounter snap to instant replay in Frank’s head.

 

Matt’s slender fingers trailing down Frank’s back, the warmth of his legs as they wrapped around his waist. The way Matt bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out as Frank pushed inside--his hot, tight entrance sucking his cock in, squeezing the life out of him.

 

Frank shakes the thoughts out of his head and reaches for the coffee pot.

 

Matt’s blindness is a good excuse to sit beside him, the pillows piled up on the floor in front of the TV, a warm pit bull curled up in Matt’s lap. (Matt is not a dog person, but Frank secretly vows to change that. Dogs make the cheapest therapists and they are the only family members that never get pissed at you or tell you to go fuck yourself. Plus, Frank is totally convinced that animals—dogs especially—are the only good things left on the earth. The entire world could be going to shit, the sky falling down around your knees, and as long as you have a dog, there will always be something that still makes it worth everything. )

 

Matt is absentmindedly stroking back one of Max’s silky-soft ears as he gazes towards the TV. “Why does the mother hate the lamp?,” he asks.

 

Frank leans in, the soft ends of Matt’s shot hair tickling his nose, their biceps touching. “It looks like a leg.”

 

Matt frowns. “A leg?”

 

“Yeah. You know, like a lady’s leg. It’s got fishnet stockings on it and a high heel.”

 

Matt lets out a subdued chuckle. “Oh god. That’s sort of tacky.”

 

“Sort of?,” Frank says and they both share a laugh. “Oh, and now the Dad is putting it in the front window.”

 

“Oh no…”

 

“Oh yeah. They have this…uh…big bay window, the neighbors can see it and everything.”

 

Matt’s eyebrows go up and he snorts. “That might cause some controversy.”

 

Frank takes a sip of his coffee. “Give the little old ladies something to talk about, anyway.”

 

The glow from the TV reveals the rosy pink color spreading up Matt’s neck to his cheeks. Frank feels a little ridiculous, like a 5th grader, but underneath the blanket he finds Matt’s hand and slides his fingers between Matt’s. Matt’s reaction doesn’t change, but Frank watches as he swallows a little. The fingers squeeze Frank’s and Frank smiles. Everything about Matt is soft, elegant, intricate, like a roman statue.

 

Frank has to reposition his legs a little after that, to make room for the tent he’s pitching in his pants.

 

* * * * *

 

Foggy and Karen have both passed out by the end of the movie. Matt gets up from his place on the floor, sliding a very unhappy dog off his lap as he does so. A displeased grumble rattles through Max’s windpipe, but he quickly flops back down, taking over the blankets on the floor that have been warmed by their bodies.

 

Matt reaches for a folded up blanket and spreads it out over the two sleeping forms on the couch.

 

“Hey,” Frank whispers, touching Matt’s elbow through his sweater. “The snow is falling outside.”

 

“I know,” Matt replies with a gentle smile. “It sounds…beautiful.”

 

“It is beautiful.” Frank gazes out the window at the alley way that glitters with multi-colored lights as the light flakes float silently to the earth. Soft mounds of snow have gathered on the fire escape, bathing the whole world in iridescent white cotton candy. Frank steps behind Matt, sliding a calloused hand up under the sweater, his fingers brushing against the soft dusting of hair that graces Matt’s belly. His skin is fragrant and warm and silky.

 

Matt stiffens immediately, turning his head in the direction of his two napping friends. “/Frank/…”, he whispers.

 

Frank shrugs, adding another hand. It dips down into the waistband of Matt’s pants as Matt’s stomach muscles flutter. “Agghh, who gives a shit?” Frank pushes forward, the fly of his jeans finding the snug place between Matt’s ass cheeks where he fits so perfectly, giving him a little shove in the direction of the bedroom.

 

They barely get past the threshold before their mouths are on each other—Matt sucking on the fingers Frank sweeps across his lips as Frank hungrily sets his teeth down on Matt’s earlobe, his tongue lapping at the skin beneath it. “Shit,” Matt breathes, walking backwards into the bed and collapsing on the plush coverings.

 

Frank sets a knee between Matt’s thighs as he works off his tee-shirt, dog tags jingling as they bounce freely on his broad chest. Matts hands flutter up Frank’s pecks, thumbs brushing over his hardening nipples, to the cool steel of the chain around his neck, running over the crushed velvet of his short-buzzed hair as they make their way to his face. He captures either side, Matt’s lips open and wanting and Frank delivers, his pouty mouth devouring Matt’s, his tongue chasing down the little whimper Matt produces.

 

“Red…fuck…” Frank joins him on the bed, pressing the weight of his lower half in between Matt’s hips and grinding shamelessly. They are both panting, now, and Frank attacks Matt’s all-too-expensive sweater, pulling up and off along with the buttoned shirt underneath and throwing them to the floor with a triumphant huff. Frank shivers—actually shivers—when their chests touch, Matt’s budding nipples pressing into his chest, Frank dropping a hand down in between Matt’s legs and working them open to dry-rut against him. He is painfully hard, now, his dick weeping pre-come and dampening his boxer-briefs, trapped mercilessly in the thick jean material.

 

“Wait—wait.” Matt stops him as his hand goes to his belt, the tips of his fingers pressing into Frank’s stomach, wedging an arm’s distance between them.

 

Frank freezes, an incredulous look that he *knows* Matt can somehow read, his wolf-like stare baring down over his lover.

 

“We…we can’t. We’ll wake them.”

 

“Oh, bullshit.” Frank tosses his head to the side as if he could physically toss the notion aside.

 

“I’m serious, Frank. Look, I want this as much as you do. /trust/ me. It’s just…”

 

Frank shrugs. “What? Is it because I’m a guy? Like you got some kind of squeaky-clean reputation to uphold?”

 

It’s Matt’s turn to glare incredulously, a deep frown setting wrinkles on his usually smooth forehead. “No. It’s because…because you’re /you/, Frank.”

 

Frank’s eyes flutter and he rocks back on his knees, letting out a bitter huff as he stares at the ceiling. “Cuz I’m a killer.”

 

Matt sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah.”

 

“Maybe you should have thought about that before throwing me up against the side of my van and kissing me.”

 

Matt has a red glow on his face now, one that is only getting hotter. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…”

 

“What, now, Red, you wanna make this weird? You wanna braid each other’s hair and sit and talk about our feelings or some shit?” (Frank’s throbbing erection is forcing Frank’s asshole-ish behavior into over-drive.)

 

Matt stares up at him. “You were holding my hand back there, you know.”

 

(Nobody questions the Punisher!) “Wh—well,” Frank is thrown into a stammering mess. “What? What are you trying to say?”

 

“I’m saying, I think…” Matt’s tongue flicks out over his lips. “I think you and I *both* know this is going somewhere.”

 

Frank blinks, his back relaxing. He slides down to sit beside Matt in the overstuffed bed, their legs still nonchalantly touching. “Yeah, you’re right.” Frank leans in, placing a soft kiss on the side of Matt’s warm cheek, beside his earlobe. “I want you, Red. I want all of you." He slides his arm across Matt’s bare chest, hooking his thumb into his belt-loop on the other side to draw him in closer. Matt’s face is turned towards his, now, their noses bumping. Franks mouth rubs against Matt’s perfectly shaped lips, running his bottom lip around the ridge of his cupid’s bow, giving him a chaste, sweet kiss.

 

Matt’s back stiffens slightly and he draws in a sharp breath through his nose as if he didn’t expect such honesty, at least not right away.

 

But Frank has more where that came from. “I can’t get you out of my mind, you fucking asshole. You are always there. You annoy the shit out of me, you know that? You’ve ruined more of my plans than the fucking Kitchen Irish, the Yakuza and Fisk combined. Don’t you think I’ve tried to make this casual? Don’t you think I’ve tried to normalize it? Make it all seem like just some part of my fucked-up head?” Frank shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Red. I can’t. Please, don’t ask me to.”

 

Matt swallows, long and hard, before a smile forms on his lips and he leans in and kisses Frank back. “Alright then. I won’t.”

 

The bed is cold, mostly because it is the coldest room in the little studio apartment. They lay facing each other, exploring each other’s bodies with mouths and hands and fingers, Frank rolling Matt onto his back and latching onto his neck, biting down on the soft flesh as his rough fingers graze his nipples.

 

Matt moans happily, fingers dug deep into the tight black curls on top of Frank’s head, one arm draped lazily across Frank’s wide, muscular back, one finger tracing a relatively new scar, smoothing the ridge along the mound of muscle it crosses.

 

“Thanks,” Frank murmurs and Matt chuckles.

 

“For what? Forcing you to have an awkward Christmas dinner with my friends and me?”

 

“That too.” Frank nibbles Matt’s collarbone as his thumbs caress the sharp bones that jut out over his waistband. “But mostly, thanks for making it easy for me.”

 

“Making what easy?”

 

Frank nibbles at a freckle on Matt’s chest before lifting his head to answer. “To admit this is more than just…well, more than just a lot of fun.”

 

Matt laughs softly, tossing a hand behind his head. “You getting soft on me, Frank?”

 

Frank ignores the remark and gives him an honest kiss on the lips with a loud “smack”. “Why don’t you reach down there and find out for yourself, altar boy?”

 

Matts arms return around Frank’s neck as Frank launches the top sheet over the bed and it billows down over their joined bodies. “Oh, I intend to Mr. Punisher.”

 

Yep. There’s just something special about the holidays.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
